


Hold Back the Dark

by keiliss



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celebrian's story, F/M, Imladris, Making A Home, Politics, Refuge, early 3rd Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: Celebrian married Elrond because 1) her mother thought it was a politically astute move, 2) she was very fond of him and thought they could be mutual support, and 3) love, given time, can grow.Written for Kaz for the 2019 Tolkien Secret Santa on Tumblr
Relationships: Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel
Comments: 23
Kudos: 81
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	Hold Back the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kazaera (Kaz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz/gifts).



> Really liked writing this. Please enjoy.

Celebrían knew something serious was amiss the day her parents invited her to join them in a secluded corner of the palace gardens for a family discussion, all very formal and quite unlike their usual parenting style. They only resorted to a united front over the most serious issues, and she doubted this had anything to do with Avarin hair styles or unsuitable friends.

The season had barely turned, but the garden had on its full summer regalia, the air heavy with floral and green scents and the smell of the ocean under a deep blue sky. It grew a little wilder now there was no longer a king to frown and ask questions, the benches not quite as pristine as before, but they were private and she was grateful not to be hemmed in by stone walls while they discussed the end of her freedom. Her mother dusted off the seat before sitting, an eyebrow minutely raised. Her father, a soldier for most of his life, was less exacting. Once settled, they talked and Celebrían listened.

In most cases where they required something from her, they would in turn listen to her opinion. If she could plead her cause successfully, they seldom insisted. This had been the case with archery lessons, not learning the lute, and being polite to her much older cousin Gildor no matter how he teased her. Her mother in particular liked to see her stand up for herself: it was behaviour Galadriel recognised and respected. This was a different matter though, and while her father might have been amenable to debate, this touched upon what remained of the Noldorin succession. Elrond, half-elven son of Gondolin and Doriath, had asked for her hand, Celeborn explained gently, and unless she had some relevant objection, to him she would be wed.

She asked why, of course, and her mother began explaining about inheritance and dynasties, politics and the importance, even on this side of the sea, of weaving lines together, consolidating power. Celebrían knew all about this, she was her mother’s daughter after all, but stayed quiet. Her father sat through it with a faint smile – Celebrían had grown to suspect he sometimes humoured her mother -- and at the end said in his low, musical voice, “Celebrían, my heart, you are a sweet, intelligent and beautiful girl and have become dear to Elrond over the course of your many meetings.”

Galadriel made a small huffing noise and he hushed her with a look, as only he could. “I hardly find it strange that he should fall in love with you, and neither should you. The only strange thing is that it took him this long to speak. Possibly that had something to do with facing your mother. She can be… quite intimidating.”

“I am a lamb,” Galadriel informed him in a neutral voice.

“Even so, my love. Even so.”

It could have been worse. She enjoyed his company when they visited Imladris, where increasingly they stayed during the pauses in her parents’ wanderings. The last time she saw Elrond had been a less happy occasion, at the memorial for her cousin the king. Celebrían had loved Gil-galad dearly, and her heart ached for his passing, but even through her tears she had been aware of Elrond’s silent grief. Gil had brought continuity to a life filled with disruption, giving Elrond a sense of family. Alone once more, he had looked lost and strangely young.

Celebrían thought about what losing parents, a foster parent, a brother and now a guardian must have meant to him over the slow turning of the years and saw that perhaps there were ways this union would be good for them both. She who had never been alone could become his family and a stable place for him, while he could give her roots, somewhere to settle and live beyond the reach of the strange dark things she saw in chilling half-dreams and knew crawled out there beyond the firelight.

So she said yes, it would be her honour to exchange promise rings with the quietly-spoken, grey eyed soldier who carried the royal blood of the great houses of both Eldar and Edain. The way she reasoned it, she was no longer a child to follow her parents from wood to ocean to desert as the whim took them, and she had found no soulmate to set her heart alight, not in all their wanderings. And she liked him very much. Who knew, in time that liking and respect might grow to love.

\-----o

In the end it took longer than the customary year and a day before they finally exchanged rings of gold in Imladris as Elrond’s life had to fit around chasing down the servants of the Enemy, who rampaged leaderless through lands war-wracked since Sauron’s return. Her mother would have preferred to see their lives joined in the rose marble palace perched on its cliff above the Gulf of Lune, but spending time there depressed Celebrían. Without Gil, it felt empty and without purpose. Galadriel was also frustrated that Elrond refused to claim Gil-galad’s mithril crown: he said there was no more place for a High King in the East, not now that so many Noldor had finally taken ship over the Sea. Celeborn agreed with him, but quietly, to keep what peace there was.

They were wed on a beautiful day in early autumn, the trees all dressed in red and gold amongst the staid green pines and the air crisp and clean as only mountain air can be. She wore amethyst silk and cobweb-fine lace, her bodice studded with pearls, and a net of diamonds over her silver hair, a bequest from Gil-galad. The music, dancing, and song went on till the next day’s sunrise, and her mother finally stopped worrying about the politics of it all and wished her well with that deep, magical smile that made up for all the tension that had gone before.

“I’m sorry, there should have been more flowers and formality,” Elrond said quietly as they sat sharing a cup of wine and a rare private moment while they watched a dance being performed especially for them. “Your mother wanted it done in the palace.”

“I didn’t,” Celebrían told him with quiet sincerity. “Not without Gil. I wanted this. The living trees make up for the flowery words and professional singing.”

They exchanged a smile, and Celebrían realised Elrond – her husband, she would needs get used to that word – had a smile to rival her lost cousin’s for warmth and charm.

Married life was not quite what she had expected, but in a good way. Imladris was a stronghold, a fortress that had been designated as Gil-galad’s fallback position should the tide of war turn against Lindon, and it would take a long time before it no longer appeared to be on a war footing. Traders and smiths, seamstresses and scholars, many of them the original refugees from Ost-in-Edhil, rubbed shoulders with soldiers, some of whom had been there from the beginning, others transferred from Lindon to help clean up Eriador. It kept them guarded and secure against the world, and was likely to stay that way until the last of the roving bands of orcs and mercenaries were dealt with. Within its borders there was no need to stay alert and watchful as she had been her entire adult life. It was a strange sensation, but one she was happy to grow used to

Elrond had also proved a surprise to her. With the fighting reduced to actions that could be handled by small patrol groups, he confided that his real desire was to resume his studies into the healing arts and possibly make Imladris a centre for such things, both for elves and for men. She sensed he did not have Gil’s instinctive fondness for the Edain, but his brother had chosen that path and in some long, distant, tangled line Elendil’s sons shared a blood link with him. In acknowledgement of this, those families whose great-grandfathers had sought refuge in Imladris during the war still had a home there rather than being sent to Arnor, to new homes in a still-dangerous land. Celebrían herself liked them, but then she had travelled to far lands from an early age and had learned young how to adapt to people very different to herself.

While Elrond began spending more hours on the studies that war had twice interrupted, she slowly started to make their part of the house more of a home than a soldier’s headquarters. She established regular household meal times, as Elrond would have been used to in Mithlond – something she had loved when they visited because life with her parents had been predictably unpredictable – and began organising groups to share in gentler tasks like teaching and sewing and planting gardens, with the idea of making Imladris less a garrison, more an elven realm in its own right. She also began to spend time with Elrond’s distant Dúnedain kin and of an evening would share their dreams and fears with him, introducing him to the heritage that might once have been his.

Imladris wasn’t her home yet, if she was honest, but in time it would be. Just as her husband was not yet the love of her life, but there was friendship and great fondness between them. They enjoyed one another’s company at day’s end, and even bedroom matters were much improved with practice on both sides. The mind link couples shared, the sense of the other that was always there, was still a more tenuous thing for them, but Elrond just smiled and said he supposed this would become stronger with time. Things grew in their season and at their own pace, and Celebrían was almost sure that someday the serious, caring elf whose life she shared would hold her heart.

\-----o

The snows came earlier than usual, though as elves measured time Celebrían had barely lived in Imladris long enough to compare. While the valley lay under a blanket of white, Elrond was kept busy seeing to soldiers injured by slipping on ice, and Dúnedain suffering from ailments Celebrían had never before imagined. As Elrond’s lady, she had overseen the late harvest, the putting up of food for winter, and now, in the dark months, she learned to ration it out with care, making sure no one under their protection went without.

She spent a lot of time visiting the Dúnedain too. The children – there were always a number of them, they had extensive families – and the very old suffered the most, feeling the cold and taking ill from it. There was a lot of coughing and gasping and streaming eyes and noses, the way it might be for elves peeling onions for a banquet. It was all quite normal, they told her, and Lord Elrond very kindly gave them potions that eased the throat and quieted the coughing. There was also willow tea for those who burned hot with fever and another drink, whose name they knew not, that brought rest and relief.

Celebrían sat with a shivering child on her lap and fed it – her – willow tea, a spoon at a time, and felt helpless. Their hands were always cold, she noticed, so she arranged for their fires to be lit first and for more blankets to be woven and brought to their corner of the steadily expanding household. She could do little more than that, and visiting, and listening to stories, and remembering names.

One evening there was no sign of Elrond at dinner or after. Eventually, wondering what could be wrong, she put on her favourite winter cloak, the dark one with the furred hood, and went to find him. He was, as she had suspected, mixing potions. There were lamps burning, including one of their rare Fëanorians which hung in its lattice of chains above his work bench. He looked up when she entered, his smile tired, and held out a hand to her. She came to take it and lean against him, looking down at the book he was making notes from.

"You need to stop now," she chided him gently. "Eat something, leave this cold room for a while." She no longer asked why it was not heated, she understood this was vital to his work.

He gave her a rueful smile. “After all you’ve said I saw a better way was needed to help our Dúnedain with their winter ailments. This is a treatise by one of their own healers, I’m looking to see what I can learn from it.”

“Our Dúnedain.” She smiled at the words, the inclusion, though whether it was his own or her inclusion that gave her the most pleasure she could not have said.

He squeezed her hand and then kissed the back, rested his cheek against it. “They say you are kind as Yavanna and always have time for them. I could have told them as much myself.”

And the space inside her where their fëar touched changed, soft light and warmth filling the shadowy corners. Celebrían said nothing about it, the smile was for herself alone. Instead she touched his cheek gently with her free hand. “You are the one who gives them safe haven, I just see to the little things you have no time for. I will fetch you a plate of food, my love, and a blanket to put around your shoulders. And I will bring some mending and keep you company while you work. Quietly,” she added. “I will be quiet as snow. I just want to be where you are.”

\-----o

The winter ended in a roar of meltwater from the mountains and shoots of green peeking through the slowly diminishing snow. Moods lifted, even the Quendi had grown thoroughly tired of short, endlessly grey days and starless nights. The health of the second born improved with the arrival of the sun, the generally short tempers that had become the norm in the kitchen and around the house eased, and those whose joy it was to clean and serve sang about their work again.

And in this time of returning light and warmth, Celebrían became pregnant.

Elven conception is not a hit or miss affair, there was too much involved for a woman to be unaware she was bearing. Even so, despite Elrond’s slightly bemused but fond care, Lindir’s cheerful songs – her husband’s favourite musician maintained that melancholy thoughts afflicted the unborn – her own burgeoning girth and her mother’s threat to move to Imladris for the duration of the pregnancy, she still found the whole business unreal. This despite the fact she and Elrond had decided months ago, giving them time to first get used to the idea. When she took up sewing again, making little robes and vests and coverlets despite her loathing for needlecraft, it still all seemed to be happening to someone else.

One afternoon in the recently completed solar, seated near the window with spring sunshine pooling on the floor at her feet and birds singing their welcome to the season of growth, something stirred within her, and in that instant everything changed. It was almost nothing, barely stronger than the flexing of a butterfly’s wing, but it was enough. Celebrían laid down her sewing and rested a hand over her stomach and a smile slowly lit her face, so beautiful it was a shame no one was there to see it. Life whispered to her of something as much a part of the spring as blossom and bud. New life. Hers and Elrond’s to keep safe in their valley fastness, hers to hedge around with protection from the dark things beyond the fire. And then there was a second movement, and another, and suddenly the sense of this all happening to someone else vanished like river mist and she saw a truth so clearly that she could barely believe she had not realised it before.

Dropping the tiny half-finished jacket onto her chair, she pushed herself to her feet and half ran from the room, hurrying down winding hallways to the part of the house where her husband worked with poltices and cures. Bursting into the room, paying no heed to the group of startled students surrounding him, she flung herself into Elrond’s arms, laughing breathlessly. “We missed it, we both missed it,” she told him in delight. “Your family and mine both, the lines bred true.” At the utter confusion on his face as he steadied her, she reached up and kissed his cheek. “The baby, silly. It’s not one as we assumed. There are two of them. Two, and I never even realised, we never realised. Just like you and your brother, just like Dior’s sons. We’re about to be doubly blessed, husband. We’re having twins.”

They were born the following summer, not far from the anniversary of their parents’ binding, two small boy children with soft dark hair and eyes full of secrets. Galadriel swore they looked to be pure Noldor. Celeborn said he saw a likeness to his brother. Galadriel raised an eyebrow but for once wisely said nothing.

Celebrían, leaning against Elrond as they watched their sleeping babies with all the awe of new parents, decided they resembled their father, the love of her heart, with traces of his fey, beautiful mother who she sometimes saw fleetingly when he opened his memories to her during shared tales of their past. What mattered was that they would grow up safe in this guarded valley, and nothing, none of the dark hints and partially glimpsed horror she had seen in dreams, would touch them. These were not Dior’s doom-fated boys, nor Elwing’s sundered children. And she was Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn of Doriath and Galadriel the Noldo: she would keep them from harm.

_\--========--_

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Red Lasbelin


End file.
